The Bet
by AnneViktor
Summary: The incorrigible Dan Fielding has outdone himself in a bet with Christine, but will winning cost him more than he's willing to lose? (OC, fyi) Humor/Frienship/Romance/Hurt/Comfort
1. That Dried Up, Tired Piece of Flotsam

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own the Night Court characters, I just like to make happy thoughts with them :)

Chapter 1: That Dried Up, Tired Piece of Flotsam

The hustle and bustle of the Christmas holiday had given way to the excitement of the coming of New Year, which put the Manhattan courthouse in a festive spirit. Judge Harry T. Stone leaned up against the front of his office desk before session, talking animatedly to his easy-going court clerk, Mac Robinson, about—and with—the rubber chicken signed by Mel Tormé that he had gotten for Christmas, while Mac took the usual peculiarity of the judge in stride, congratulating him on his most recently acquired treasure, and covertly shifting his attention to Bull Shannon who had just entered. The bailiff looked like an overgrown child as he hyperventilated at his new toy.

"I can't believe how fun this thing is, sir! Thanks again for the...what do you call it?" asked Bull.

"A pinwheel, Bull," smiled Harry. "And you're very welcome! It had your name written all over it."

Bull stopped blowing and furrowed his brows as he carefully inspected the spindly toy. "Ah, nuts. Someone must have rubbed them off," he said, looking a little crestfallen.

The Assistant D. A., Dan Fielding, then sauntered in with a smirk on his face—the one everyone was familiar with and sick of—the one that said "I have a date with D-cups", not to be confused with the more understated grin of the C-cup date.

"Dan, I see you've gotten a date for new years," noted Harry, carefully perching his rubber chicken on top of the mini fridge. "Who's the lucky lady? Or would I have to arrest you if I found out?"

Dan's smirk soured a little in his direction. "For your information, her name is Loretta, and I've been trying to land this account, if you will, for a week. But come the time that ball drops in Times Square, boy..."

"Gee, Dan, that's great," Mac chimed in, "I'll be sure to get you some Champaign for the occasion—but maybe you should give it all to your date, she's gonna need every last drop."

"Go fluff your sweater," Dan shot daggers at Mac.

Just then Christine Sullivan, the goody Public Defender, heel-clicked into the populating office while poring over an open file and, simultaneously, Dan bounded to the door frame in two giant leaps, frozen there next to the pretty, blonde lawyer, and bent down to her level with a pucker waiting upon his lips. Without looking up from her file she walked past Dan who was still poised for a smooch.

"Not at Christmas, not every day since then, not in a million years, Dan," Christine said just as Roz entered in behind her.

Roz stopped in the doorway and turned to stare at Dan. "Kiss me and die." She continued on into the cozy office.

Christine dropped her file to her side and looked imploringly at Harry. "Sir, would you please remove that dried up, tired piece of flotsam from the doorway?"

"You heard the lady, Dan," Harry advised.

"Ha-ha," Dan said as he straightened up and smoothed his tie into his three-piece suit.

"You know I meant the mistletoe, sir," Christine corrected Harry.

"Aw, but it's been so fun watching Dan try to make it work on you," he disputed.

"Maybe it's broken?" offered Bull, innocently.

"Oh, great, now you got the dunderhead making wisecracks without even knowing it," Dan flung a hand out at the massive bailiff. "But I'll have you know I could have any lady I want plant one on these lips," He turned his outstretched hand into a balled fist with an index finger jutting out and pointing to his own face.

"Any lady under thirty—a 30 I.Q. count, that is!" Christine laughed at her triumphant one-liner. Dan had now become provoked enough to make an effort to save face and ego.

"Alright, Miss I'm-Too-Good-To-Abide-By-The-Laws-Of-Mistletoe, I'll bet you'll kiss me—_and like it_—by the time the clock strikes twelve on New Year!" declared Dan.

"Ha!" Christine replied simply, arms folded across her chest. Dan saw that she wasn't taking the bait.

"Think it's funny? You'll be salivating all over me before the next," he looked at his watch, "thirty-two hours are up."

"Oh, Dan—"

"And that's exactly what you'll be whispering in my ear!" He cut her off, giving her a smoldering glare.

"Alright, alright," Christine tossed down the file in a chair while everyone's heads were ping ponging back and forth between the two. "I'll bet you _won't_ be able to _not_ kiss me before New Year!" Dan considered this for a moment and decided to plow ahead.

"Ooh—even better," Dan wore a mischievous grin, "Winner gets...loser pays winner...one thousand dollars!" he pulled out of the sky.

"Fine. And one week of servitude!" added Christine.

"Fine! I've got a sweet little French maid number that would be perfect, too," Dan relished the thought.

"Good, you can wear it while you're dusting my twenty-eight tea sets and clipping my cat's nails!" she said, picking up her folder and walking right up to him. She got a strange gleam in her eye, one that Dan usually only saw in his dreams, and pulled his designer tie down to force him to her eye level, their noses just touching. "I hope you...enjoy it," she purred. Dan's resolve fell off his face as she dropped his tie and left him hunched over as she made her exit. She could have whispered a pancake recipe to him like that and he wouldn't be able to walk straight for a week.

"Well, that was fun." said Roz matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, Dan, you're in it now. What about your New Year date?" Mac pointed out, just beginning to gather the files for the session about to start.

"Oh, damn—Loretta! Well, she's just going to have to take a back seat," said Dan, re-ordering his priorities.

"I'll bet she was heading there, anyway," Roz pointed out to no one in particular.

"Alright, kids, this has been swell, but we got a busy night ahead of us," Harry reminded his small but mighty crew. " It's Friday and we're closing out for the year so let's get 'er done!" They all milled out, Dan being the last one, still straightening his tie and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in his suit. He had a foreboding feeling about the night ahead.


	2. Levitating French Fries

Chapter 2: Levitating French Fries

Everyone had made their way into the courtroom but Dan, who was looking a little out-of-sorts, when he happened across his personal assistant/garbage bin urchin.

"Phil! Phil, stop picking your scabs and come here, I have a job for you to do," Dan announced.

"Really? It would be my honor, boss!" Phil looked elated as if he were a kid and Christmas had accidentally repeated for the second time in a week. Dan, qualifying any words that came out of his mouth as a waste of time, grabbed him by the front of his dingy jacket.

"Here," Dan said, stuffing some cash in Phil's hands. "Use this to buy some flowers and a box of chocolates, pronto." Dan swept into the courtroom, not waiting for a response. He felt good about his first move in sweeping Christine off her feet and wore a smug smile as he took his seat at the prosecutor's table, his momentary lapse of composure in Harry's office forgotten.

Christine stood up with a massive amount of papers in her arms and "accidentally" dropped them by Dan's chair. She stooped down to retrieve them, when she found that he had joined her: an obvious attempt at chivalry in helping her pick up the mess.

"*tsk* You poor thing, let me help you with those," simpered Dan.

"Oh, thank you, Dan," Christine batted her eyelashes. He flinched. "While we're down here, just the two of us, well, I didn't want to say anything in front of everybody," she spoke softly, gathering up the suspiciously blank sheets of printer paper while maintaining eye contact, "but I just wanted to let you know that I'm really looking forward to our _friendly_ little wager. I admit, I've always wondered what it's like to be kissed by you," she explained demurely. Dan ripped the stack of papers in his hands in knee-jerk response, his eyes now transfixed on her lips. She leaned forward, her face completely taking up his field of vision. "Come on, Dan, just one little peck...please...?"

Dan's involuntary moan turned into a yelp as he realized he wasn't more than two inches away from depriving his bank account of one grand, and sustaining a bad case of dish pan hands. "Away from me, you seductress!" he exclaimed while hastily standing up and distancing himself from the sultry pout Christine wore. A few people looked up at the commotion in front, but most of the courtroom was filled with regulars who were acclimated to such sentiments as came out of the Assistant District Attorney's mouth.

"All rise," announced Bull, to Dan's relief. He steeled himself and racked his brains for a counter-attack. He refused to be undone by one—okay, two—attempts on her part to make him cave. Bull finished calling court to order as Harry took his place at the bench, but not without magically taking quarters out of no less than two peoples' ears by the time he finally sat down.

"Lay it on me, Mac, my man," said Harry energetically, eager to start the night and end the year. Mac furnished the case and Bull furnished the defendant, placing him between the defense and prosecution. They went through the usual procedure that accompanied prostitution charge, and the violator was charged with fifty dollars and time served.

"Christine, that was truly brilliant," remarked Dan. "Have I ever mentioned how much I deeply admire your work ethic, your passion for all whom you defend, and, indeed, your uncompromising character. Justice has found her home in you."

"I lost the case, Dan—" Christine pointed out, just as a woozy-looking Phil stumbled into the courtroom clutching a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates tucked under his arm.

"Excuse me," Dan grinned as he rushed toward his threadbare drudge. "Phil! Where have you been? Here, give me those," he yanked them out of his possession.

"Sorry, boss, but you only gave me fifteen bucks, so I had to give blood to cover the rest," he said wearily.

"Well, just don't let it happen again. I can't afford to waste more time than I already have," said Dan, promptly turning around and strutting back to Christine.

"Christine! For you, my dear," he presented her with the gifts with more cheese in his smile than Phil's socks.

"For me?" Christine gasped in joyful surprise. "Oh, Dan, you shouldn't have."

"Nonsense," Dan brushed off her humility. "This is but a small token of my admiration for you."

"That just means _so_ much to me," Christine gushed as she proceeded to hug him out of gratitude and not a little bit of ulterior motives, "coming from a big, strong, handsome man like yourself. Gosh, Dan," she continued on, still nuzzled against him and squeezing him a little more, while Dan began to feel more like a mouse caught up with a boa constrictor. "I never noticed how rock hard your chest is. Maybe you can show me your workout routine at break time." And before she could say any more, she found her arms empty and the courtroom doors swinging with a distant cry echoing down the hall. Harry, who had been busy signing paperwork on his desk, looked up to notice a fifty percent decrease of lawyers in his courtroom.

"Would anyone happen to know where the Assistant D. A. ran off to?" Harry questioned the general assembly.

"Anywhere there's cold, running water, would be my guess," offered Roz, who had witnessed the muddling of Dan's wits by the Public Defender.

"Bull, please check the bathrooms—men's _and_ women's—and bring Mr. Fielding to my office. Ten-minute recess, folks." And with a gavel bang Harry hopped off the bench and proceeded to his study.

Within a couple minutes, various sarcastic comments could be heard just around the corner from the open door of his office. A sodden Dan was ushered through while in mid-diatribe about—and to—Bull.

"—needed an escort, I would have called for one, and they would have had stilts taped to their stilettos if I had wanted someone as tall and uncoordinated as you." Dan shot at the tight-lipped bailiff.

"Dan," Bull said steadily as he walked him through the door, "you know I don't take guff like that, and the only reason I'm not gonna punch your lights out is because Christine seems to be doing a pretty good job of it already."

"Thank you, Bull," Harry dismissed him back into the court room. "Lady trouble, Dan?" guessed Harry.

"I mean, she can't just go hugging me and doing that pouty thing with her lower lip like that while court is in session, right?" Dan said as if finishing aloud a thought that began in his mind. "We have laws...propriety...decency!"

"All of which I'm sure you've tested to greater extents in my courtroom," Harry couldn't help but point out the irony. "Now tell me what the problem is so we can get on with the show."

"What do you think?" spat Dan. "Christine! She's trying to trick me into losing the bet—_and I'll be toast by lunch._" He slumped down onto the green leather sofa in the corner and put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was sure the gray hair currently burying his fingers got a little grayer in the last half hour.

"Come on, Dan," Harry said bracingly, "it can't be that bad for you can it?"

"You don't understand," said Dan gravely, "I've been after that woman for years. _Years!_ When I can get any other woman with the snap of my fingers," he snapped his fingers. "You gotta help me, Harry. You two were a _thing_ once, what gets her motor going?"

"Well," Harry reasoned, "she liked it when I was myself."

"Oh, great. Now I gotta start learning how to levitate my french fries at dinner."

"I don't mean magic tricks. Just be yourself. Let her see the real you. Heck, tell her about where you grew up." Harry suggested.

"Yeah, right," Dan rolled his eyes at the notion. "I'll just bring in mom's photo album, we can reminisce about my childhood days, and then she won't be able to keep her hands off me."

"Dan, I don't know why you have to open your big mouth and get yourself into these messes, but if you go through with this—and I don't think the real Dan would have the heart to—honesty is the best angle you got with her," he encouraged him. "Christine is your friend." Dan didn't say anything but just stared morosely at the floor. "Come on," Harry patted him on the shoulder, "let's get back to it."


	3. Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!

The rest of the night lacked any unmanageable scandalous behavior, mostly because Dan avoided Christine like a bad cough. He considered Harry's words and conceded to a fair amount of reason in them—except for the bit about him not being able to go through with the bet in the end. He was determined not to measure up to Harry's high opinion of him. He would show him, and have eternal bragging rights, to boot. He certainly wasn't going to make a fool of himself in front of an audience, however, and so needed to find a way to let his genuine self shine—he shuddered at the thought and tried to remember who that was, anyway—in a fairly discreet way. He had a reputation to keep, dammit, and he wouldn't lose what he had worked years for to create. And it wouldn't be so unbearable with Christine, he reasoned to himself. She'd often seen his softer (_yuck_) side, and did seem to warm up quite a bit to that, he brightened a little at the thought. Maybe he'd get under her skin just enough, after all.

"So, Christine," Dan came over to her desk (still at arm's distance) after the night was adjourned and everybody wished each other a happy New Year, "I was thinking, it would be a _shame_ if all this _fun_ we've been having with our silly bet has to stop before New Year's actually here. If you're not busy—and I'm sure someone as beautiful as you already has a date—I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tomorrow night? I know a great little French place..."

"Well, actually, I do already have plans," she admitted, and Dan's forced smile became a little more forced at the news, "but I think I'll cancel. I've been a little disappointed in your efforts with our _silly bet_," Christine tilted her head to the side, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers, "and besides, my car is getting a new paint job, and the winnings will come in really handy for that."

"Ha, ha, ha," Dan shook off her over-confidence."I'll call you tomorrow." And he bid her goodnight (from a distance, he still didn't trust her to keep her claws off him—what cruel irony had he brought upon himself, he wondered?). As he exited through the double doors in back of the courtroom, Roz came in through the front hall door.

"You ready?" she asked Christine, who really was having her car painted and had arranged to carpool with Roz.

"Yup," she answered, just clicking her briefcase shut and swinging it down to her side. As they walked down the hall to the elevator, they talked about their plans for New Year. Roz had gotten tickets to see WrestleMania from Bull for Christmas, so she decided to invite him along. When Christine shared her change of plans to go out to dinner with Dan, Roz raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

"Poor Dan, he didn't know what he was getting himself into when he made that stupid bet. But then, I didn't think you had it in you to take him on." said Roz while the elevator door slid closed.

"Well, I wouldn't have, but he just makes me so mad sometimes with all that...that..." Christine was looking for the right word to describe his pigheadedness, "pigheadedness!"—she found it. "Someone's gotta teach him a lesson, and for once I'm going to go to some extents to do it." resolved Christine.

"But what's the use? He's hit on you every single day for years. What makes you think he's gonna change?"

"Well, I don't know, but maybe if he got broke a little—in more ways than one—he wouldn't be so quick to make a fool of himself." Christine tried to sound convinced of her theory.

"Christine," leveled Roz, "You know Dan annoys me—and all of us—to no end, but you don't strike me as the kind of person who breaks stuff, including chauvinistic stuff like Dan. Heck, if there were eggshells on the floor, you'd probably be down there trying to glue them back together."

"Maybe," Christine gave Roz a furtive look and stood silent for a few seconds. Roz counted down those seconds right before..."Oh, who am I kidding?! I felt like a cheap bimbo today just trying to get him to kiss me—_ugh_, and I can't believe I tried to do that! _Ugh, ugh, ugh_!" She gagged at the numbered buttons to the side of the elevator doors. Roz felt her work was done. "And I told him I'd go out with him, too," she lamented. The doors slid open and they walked out into the main lobby.

"Well, you can't back out now," Roz reminded her, "unless you want to treat him to a thousand bucks and the sight of you in a French maid uniform." Christine made a face at the thought. "Be nice, but maybe you can slip in those pouts you do with that lower lip here and there, without taxing your conscience too much, mama still gots to pay for that paint job." They braced themselves for the frigid breeze as they entered into the parking garage, wishing the night guard good night and "see you next year."


	4. Thank You, Dr Freud

("Oh, Lady Be Good!" song lyrics by George Gershwin, recorded by Ella Fitzgerald, and owned by their respective publishers and producers)

Chapter 4: Thank You, Dr. Freud

"Sweet, lovely lady, be good  
Oh, lady, be good to me  
'Cause I'm so awf'ly misunderstood  
Oh, lady, be good to me

Say, I'm all alone in this big city of New York  
Won't someone please have pity on me?  
I'm just a lonesome babe in the woods  
Oh, lady, be good to me..."

Dan sat in a reclined position as he let his eyes close to the white plaster ceiling overhead. Ella Fitzgerald's voice piped through a small stereo perched up on a stool behind the cashier's desk. The smell of real shaving cream and the feel of a straight razor gliding across the plains of his cheeks always made him relaxed. It was his talisman of sorts to get a cut and a genuine barber shop shave before facing a stressful or important task, and getting Christine to kiss him (and _like it_. Why did he have to put _that_ detail into the bet, he wondered?) was nothing to sneeze at, not to mention letting her into his inner sanctum to tempt her to do it. He couldn't quite reconcile the two feats to each other, but he decided not to analyze it too deeply and determined to follow through, just to spite himself, and to prove to himself more than anybody—even Harry—the command he had over himself. And he really did want Christine to kiss him. She practically owed him at very least a make-out session (he did the math) based on the sheer principle that she was a woman, combined with how long they had known each other, no matter in what capacity.

Christine's estimation of the "whole ordeal", as she now referred to it, was another matter. She shooed her cat off the sofa when she thought he looked too comfy there, then shooed him again when he had settled onto her bed. She wouldn't be alone in her agitation and so she forced the cat into her misery, too. It was twelve noon when the dreaded ring from the phone came, and now at one in the afternoon Christine was still in a daze—and still shooing the cat—from wondering how Dan had managed to persuade her to pick her up in fifteen minutes for what was originally a dinner invitation. And it still was, Dan assured her, but better appreciated while still light outside. When she asked where the restaurant was he wouldn't say but that it was "on the scenic route" and "you're not afraid of a little drive are you? Because you can just cash your bet in now." She kicked herself for her tenacity, rising to his taunt, but what really put the nail in the coffin was her curiosity. Not because he wouldn't say where it was, but why it had to be seen in the daylight, and because of what he asked her to wear: "something warm, and casual. I recommend jeans. Tight ones." Well, Christine wasn't too curious about why he'd asked for tight—she could guess as much, but for a well dressed, bare leg-and-cleavage mongering Dan, she was in the dark.

The hum of wheels on the road could almost be heard in the car as they were just exiting New York City proper. But she let the sound of what she could hear fill her ears, since there was no other sound to be had, anyway. That, and the blowing of the heater turned on low. Christine looked out of the passenger window, watching the city spread out the further west they drove. Her mind was filled with the events of the past half hour, if they could even be called that. More like non-events: what didn't happen. Dan didn't compliment her on what she was wearing, much to her relief: she really didn't own any loose-fitting jeans, and made a mental note to buy some in case of emergencies. He didn't present her with any more romantic items like flowers or chocolate. He didn't offer her his arm—or any other body part—on the way to his car. She assumed he was too scared to touch her after yesterday's showcase of how much power her feminine wiles had on him when she unleashed them in full force. She took some comfort at that. He did open her car door to let her in, for which she thanked him quietly and with suspicion.

"Here we go," said Dan, more to himself than to Christine, as he started the car, an older but immaculate red Monte Carlo, and proceeded to drive. But those were the only words spoken up until this point. The last thing she wanted to do was open her mouth to give him any sort of opportunity for anything. And upon further reflection of Roz's admonition that she had to follow through, she didn't like the idea of flouncing even a lower lip. She had taken it too far yesterday, and she had made the one thousand dollar bed that she would inevitably have to sleep in. Not to mention the servitude. She was determined not to let _that_ seep into her thoughts until she absolutely had to pick up the feather duster. Looking surreptitiously over at the driver, Christine noticed how he had enough control over himself when she wasn't fawning over him, much to her dismay. She wished he'd just grab her already and get the whole stupid thing over with so she could go home and dust her own twenty-eight tea sets in solitude.

She stole another look his way just as he was stealing one in her direction, their eyes met and both seemed equally guilty and annoyed at being found out by the other in their silent occupation during the ride.

"You seem quiet over there," Dan pointed out, his eyes back on the road. He wondered what her angle was in giving him the silent treatment, and assumed that this was some sort of tactic she used to lower his guard before she dropped an attack.

"So do you," Christine replied, and had formulated the same conclusion that he had.

The fact of the matter was Dan was dreading the entire trip, but he reasoned that desperate times had called for desperate measures, and their destination was about as desperate a measure as he could procure. He had never brought anyone there before and had never intended to, until now. He slept fitfully last night, and whenever he did happen to sleep, he dreamed that he stood under a canopy of maple trees before Christine without any clothes on—and felt _mortified_; which was a first for him in all the dreams he had that starred Christine and his naked self. He could only see how this couldn't bode well, Dan in the buck or not.

"Right. So, uh, let's talk about something." He had been trying to broach the subject with her, at least in his head, since he'd thought of the damn idea in the first place. And here they were already a whole half hour into their trip with nothing to show for it.

"Like what?"

"We could talk about me," he suggested.

"Well, that's typical," Christine noted sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant," he said, exasperated with her and himself at the same time. "What I mean is, we don't really talk a lot—_I_ don't really talk a lot—about my personal life." Dan rolled his eyes at the thought of having one and saying it out loud while, simultaneously, Christine rolled hers at the thought that that was all he talked about: the women he saw. "I mean, where I grew up and all that garbage," he clarified, seeing her about to object.

She just looked at him, not sure what to say except, "Okay..." and obviously waiting for him to say something.

"Look," Dan said, "I'm not really good at this stuff, so maybe you could ask a question and we could go from there."

"All right..." replied Christine, at a loss for where to begin or why they even had begun talking in the first place. "Well, I know you grew up in Louisiana. What was that like?"

"Hot. And muggy."

She looked at Dan, waiting for more, and when more wouldn't come, went back to looking out of the window. He looked back over at her, aware he was losing his audience. He had to do better than that.

"But the seafood's amazing. And the fireflies...watching them at night. It was nice. Peaceful."

Christine looked over at him, surprised that he had said something that was actually positive about his hometown, knowing that it was the one place he wanted no connection with.

"You watched fireflies? You sat still long enough to enjoy them?"

"I _was_ human once, you know." He assessed her surprise and concluded, with some cynicism, that he had done a very thorough job of convincing everyone that he was exactly as he appeared.

"Well, what else did you like?"

He thought for a moment. "Swimming in the Gulf. The water was so warm, it was like bathwater. Man, I could swim miles."

"You were a swimmer?"

"High school swim captain, yes, Ma'am."

"Wow, Dan, I'm impressed." And she rather was. Dan was about to make a remark about how she would really be impressed if she saw him in his speedo, but reigned it in before he ruined the seeming progress they had made since the start of their trip. "I would have pegged you more for the debate team captain..."

"That, too."

"Oh...so you were the over-achiever."

"Was, still like to think that I am, though my efforts may have taken a less _noble_ route. But back in the day they were deserving enough."

"What changed?"

He squinted at the road. "Oh, I suppose I had a reality check. Found out at one point my ideals didn't match up to what I saw around me. So I set my standards a little lower, a little more realistic."

"Which are?"

"Money, mostly." _And power, and sex_, he thought, but chose not to voice those. Christine looked at him for a moment, wondering about the unusual candor coming out of Dan Fielding's mouth. He glanced back at her, trying to read her thoughts, and a little surprised at his own honesty. He looked away, thinking back on the times they did have grown-up conversations, remembering the way it took little effort to talk to her when he did finally open his mouth. He wasn't sure whether he liked or disliked that about her.

"What was the reality check?" asked Christine, who had completely forgotten about the thirty minutes of silent treatment and whirring of car wheels.

He sat silent for a minute, thinking of how much to edit out of his answer, "Justice isn't always just." He said shortly, and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, wishing they hadn't broached the topic and that they were still ignoring each other.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Christine. Dan remained silent though she saw the set in his jaw and was compelled to find the meaning of it. She wasn't used to him troubled by anything unless it involved his own inconvenience. "Hey," she said quietly, "what happened?"

They picked up speed now that they were passing out of Newark. The weak winter sun shown hazily on mile after mile of sprawling suburbs. "I was only an apprentice," Dan spoke hardly above a whisper, as if he were reliving a memory that he forgot he had. "hardly older than the kid they brought in to our office. We were his defense, and our firm was well known for having a soft spot for _his_ kind," Christine looked at him a little lost, but he continued without stopping, "and most of the time we won, even if it was on a technicality. But, you see, the _good ol'_ courts were tired of our high acquital rate, and made damn sure the good men and women of the jury would "out the bad blood," as they put it, from their respectable land. They found a technicality of their own, and gave the poor SOB the death penalty."

"Oh, Dan, I'm so sorry. But I don't understand—"

"—He was black, Christine," he explained bluntly, "and as innocent as he was dark. I know he was." his voice shook with conviction, as if it had just happened yesterday. "The day the put him to death was the day I decided to go into prosecution. I figure if I knew the case was shifty and a man's life hung in the balance, I could throw it," Dan smiled darkly.

"Dan, you could get your license taken away, or get sued—or worse—go to jail!—"

"—No one's going to die on my watch. Not again," he vowed. Christine stared at him for a moment, a little bewildered by this side of Dan. She always knew he was incorrigibly stubborn, but never included valiance into the spectrum of his character.

"So, is that why you moved to New York?"

"That was one of the reasons."

Christine thought about all he had said, but wasn't satisfied. "So that's it, then? One man get's dealt a bad hand and you abandon your priorities?"

"He _died_, Christine!" spat Dan. Christine jumped at his bark. "Has that ever happened under your defense?"

"Well, no..." she admitted.

"Then I suggest you keep your judgements to yourself," he said coldly. Christine looked down at her hands in her lap, mortified by his words and tone, but what disturbed her most was the thought that a lawyer who would go give up their career for someone accused of a crime they didn't commit, who would go to jail for a stranger, didn't add up to his resolution to live for money.

"No," she said after a time.

"What?"

"I will not keep my judgements to myself—no, Dan," she cut him off as he was about to say something. "You got into law because you had ideals about justice, but when justice wasn't served the way it should have been, or the way you saw fit, you ran—all the way up to New York," she took a breath and continued. "I think deep down you really do hold to your high ideals, but you're too afraid to practice them with any passion. You put on a callous front so you won't get hurt in case justice slips through your fingers. And you hide it under the pursuit of...what? Money? Last time I checked, the Assistant District Attorney doesn't make near what any lawyer in a modest New York firm is making, and you could have easily become a partner at any one of them by now. I'm sorry, but I don't buy it," Christine said finally.

"Well, thank you, Dr. Freud, for that riveting insight of my entire legal career. I hope you're done because I certainly am," Dan said snidely. Christine crossed her arms in front of her, fed up with his refusal to admit to at least some truth to her observations. Dan, of course, hated that she had so utterly presumed upon his character not only chronic fear that stunted his practice of law, but that he still held onto lofty ideals.

And he hated when she was so utterly right.


	5. Threatening a Smile

Chapter 5: Threatening a Smile

What was usually a very pretty drive during all other seasons of the year, was mile after mile of grey spartan trees on either side of Route 15 as far as the eye could see. The car had little company on the road as most everyone had already found their destinations and were hunkering down to ring in the New Year. The inside of the car boasted even less company, once again. Christine looked down at her thin silver watch. 2:15. She sighed. "Are we getting close?" she asked sulkily.

"We're about half way there," replied Dan, who had now thoroughly regretted walking into work yesterday.

"You mean we have another hour before we get there?" she asked disbelievingly.

"Give or take a few minutes."

Dan felt miserable on a number of levels about now, a small part of which was due to the fact that he had upset Christine. A very small part, he tried to persuade himself. But the way he snapped at her combined with him practically dragging her by the hair to this place, with still "another hour before we get there" softened his resolve to be angry at her.

He let out a breath. "Look, Christine, I'm sorry I chewed you out back there," he said a little remorsefully. "It's just that I've never shared that incident with anyone before. I wasn't prepared to hear a sermon about it."

"Well, I'm sorry, too," Christine said quietly. "I didn't mean step on your toes. It's just that I know you're capable of doing so much good, and I didn't want to see you settle for less."

Dan chewed on her words, considering whether or not to be touched or exasperated by her insistence that there was more good to him than he let on.

"Well...I know you meant well," he replied, choosing not to rock the boat again. And, he thought a little mockingly to himself, he was getting exactly what he wanted, after all, to let her inside. For what? He couldn't place his finger on it at the moment. "Anyway, thank you." he said, reaching down and gently squeezing her hand. She stiffened a little at his touch and then he let go, remembering why he was doing all this: the kiss. He imagined the of the two of them, clinging to each other in a passionate embrace, which was then replaced by the mortified feeling of his dreams from the night previous, shaking him back to reality. He exhaled.

"So why did _you_ get into law?" He asked, not wanting silence to follow the awkwardness of the touch, and no longer wishing the spotlight on himself.

"Well, I guess I got into it for the same reason you did," she said, continuing on the vein of Dan's good side, much to his bad side's annoyance. She looked at him, speaking as much with her eyes. He looked back at her, and for a second he wished they were in the same righteous boat, working together for the justice of humanity. Then he sneezed, and the notion left.

"So how do you get a good night's sleep when you know the courts didn't do their job?" He genuinely wanted to know.

Christine thought for a moment. "Well, I don't suppose I _do_ get a good night's sleep, on the bad days. But the next morning, I pick myself up, more determined to double my efforts, and remind myself that our system does the best for the most people the vast majority of the time." Christine turned to face Dan to make him focus on her. "Dan, I know it's not a perfect system, believe me, I do, and I know I sound like a Pollyanna, picking myself up by my bootstraps and seeing the glass half full, but for me, to let the worst of our justice system beat me down, won't help those people who I know I _can_ help. And if I can let my clients know that someone cares about them in their distress, even if they don't come out on top, at least they have that knowledge—and maybe from that they have a glimmer of hope—that someone is willing to fight for them, so that they keep going and keep trying and keep living. That's what keeps me doing the same." She finished and, for a moment, he looked into her blue eyes which were full on him, wishing kisses weren't so expensive, and wishing he weren't such a general ass. He tore his gaze away from her. He did have to watch the road, and she faced forward once more to watch with him.

"I suppose I should know better, I'm just gonna get a homily every time she opens her mouth," he thought aloud, but in a way that told her he appreciated what she had to say, deep down. She smiled a little, and when he noticed it, she noticed back, and turned her profile away to look out of her window, smiling a little more. She always thought he looked kindhearted when he wore that expression of good humor, however veiled by years of pinched sarcasm, when his eyes warmed up and the corners of his mouth turned just so that they threatened a smile.

Their conversation lightened considerably after that first hour, and they found themselves in ease the rest of the journey, their wager once more pushed out of mind. They hung a right at Sparta and continued their trek northward, passing alternating swathes of small towns, forest, and farmland. As they neared their destination, they meandered through woodland and edged along a small port town before paralleling a river for some miles. Just as their highway was about to cross over, they exited off a narrow two-lane road and began to jog easterly, connecting into a wider lane going north again.

"Where are we going, Dan?"

"I told you, a french restaurant."

"In the middle of nowhere?"

"The middle of New York state is not the middle of nowhere," Dan corrected her. Christine rolled her eyes and could have made a good counter-case. The car slowed down and turned left onto a nondescript drive made of asphalt. The small road had obviously been forgotten for some time by the government as they dipped into small potholes and meandered around larger ones, with cracks veining here and there on the surface of the short stretch. Towering bare branch sugar maples hemmed them in on either side, the branches of the one side almost touching the ones from the other side. They passed clusters of small cottages before they made one last right turn on a thinly populated street. The car pulled onto a circular gravel driveway and came up in front of a sizable two-story house with a painted wood plaque hanging above the steps to the covered porch. Christine squinted up at the sign as they slowed to a stop. "Maison d'or" she mouthed, making out its words.

"Here we are," said Dan.


	6. A Sticky Bandaid on a Hairy Arm

Chapter 6: A Sticky Bandaid on a Hairy Arm

Christine sat staring at the sign and house until Dan had blocked her view as he opened the car door. A frosty breeze blew through the car and she picked up the dark blue scarf that had slid off the seat onto the floor of the car during the ride. She climbed out and slung the scarf around her neck. Dan had their jackets draped over his arm and motioned to the house. She walked toward the steps, her legs stiff from the long drive, and he followed close behind, reaching around to open the door for her when they had landed on the welcome mat, flanked by two large, whitewashed terra cotta pots with a trim evergreen topiary in each. She entered in to a warm, small reception hall. The first thing she noticed was the dark woodwork, including the hardwood floor that creaked beneath her feet. There were lace in the windows and dark stained wainscoting along the lower half of the walls, the upper half dotted with pictures. Just above them hung a modest but intricate black wrought iron chandelier which sparkled with cheery candlestick lights. They walked in a little further and found themselves in a generous sitting room and a grand fireplace at one end with a good blaze crackling, it's hickory scent hanging in the air. Their were a few fine pieces of furniture huddled around it with two couples sitting in them enjoying the warmth from it and the drink in their mugs.

"Daniel?" Christine heard someone call to their right and down the hall. "Daniel, Oh!" She saw a stout woman bustling down the hall toward them, wiping her hands on her pinstriped apron and clasping her hands together with a smile lighting up her creased features. Dan left Christine's side and walked toward the woman.

"Bonjour, nanna Garie," Dan greeted her warmly, stooping down and exchanging kisses on each others' cheeks followed by a hug that made the short woman look even more dwarfed when encompassed by Dan's substantial frame. He escorted her down the hall back to Christine and introduced the two ladies. After Christine had received the familiar greeting of a kiss on each cheek herself, the good-natured lady commented to Dan. "She is trés belle, oui!" and patted his arm approvingly, and had them follow her back up the hall into the kitchen. The shelving on the walls boasted a vast array of bright copper pots, pans and bakeware, and a delicious savory aroma filled the well-used area. But they didn't stop there; they exited through a small door at the back that emptied out into an extended sunroom with a couple of small round tables topped with petite bouquets of winter wheat and more topiary tucked in the corners. They walked through it to the outside where they saw a man coming around the far corner of the house carrying large bundle of wood in a thick canvas sling. He wore a flannel shirt, denim pants and a hat with ear flaps. As he came closer, recognition dawned on him and he set his firewood down and removed his hat to greet the new arrivals. Dan and the man who apparently was nanna Garie's husband, greeted each other like family and turned to Christine to introduce her to him.

"Papa Garie, this is my friend, Christine Sullivan. Christine, papa Garie," said Dan. Papa Garie kissed Christine on both cheeks, too, and bid them come inside to refresh themselves. "Thank you, papa Garie, but we can only stay inside for a few minutes. I was hoping to go up the hill before it gets too late."

"Mais oui, oui," papa Garie said in a blunt Cajun accent. If Christine hadn't known of Dan's origins she may have mistook them for French. They stepped back inside and the three of them caught up on each other's happenings since their last reunion while Christine sat there taking in the exchange.

"Oh, you know, work is the usual," Dan answered in the midst of their questions, "though there was one case earlier this month involving a camel, three drunk men, and two hundred yards of Christmas lights—remember, Christine? I kept the court transcripts and read it whenever I need a good laugh, but I promise we'll tell you about it later, we gotta get a move on," Dan gently insisted. They put their cups of coffee down, with nanna Garie promising Christine a tour of the house-turned-bed and breakfast upon their return. Dan helped Christine into her powder blue jacket before he put on his own thick navy peacoat and then headed back outside through the sunroom. They walked side by side as they made some distance from the house. Christine gave Dan a nonplussed look as they found a narrow path forming in the bare winter ground.

"What?" asked Dan in response to her questioning expression.

"_Dan_—!" squeaked Christine. She wasn't sure where to begin. "You took us to a _bed and breakfast_?"

"It still counts as a French restaurant. It's nanna Garie's specialty."

"But it's a _bed and breakfast_!"

"Oh, just relax. We're not staying the night, _unless you want to_," he offered. Christine made a sound of exasperation. "It really is the best cooking in the state of New York. And besides," he added a little quieter, "it's a special place. To me."

Christine didn't answer right away. It _was_ obvious this was a special place for him, which was why she wasn't stomping back to the car and demanding to be taken home. And she really was burning with curiosity to know why the old kindly couple who ran Maison d'or were actually _happy_ to see him. She had never seen anyone greet Dan as if they genuinely cared about him. "So, who are they?" She asked him. They were walking in a downward slope when she looked up and the sight of a partially frozen lake came into view. "Oh!"

"This," Dan said, motioning to it, "is Lake Esperance. And they," he answered her question, "are my godparents, for lack of a better term."

"I didn't know you had godparents," this fact distracting Christine from the lake, and the lake distracting her from the scandalizing thought of going to a bed and breakfast with Dan Fielding.

"You didn't ask," he said simply. They were skirting around the short side of the lake and heading west. They walked along the path worn into the frozen ground. Patches of snow still remained in the more protected areas in the shade. The air was filled with the pungent smell of decomposing maple leaves beneath their feet. "And they're more like old family friends."

"From Louisiana?"

"New Orleans, yes."

"Dan, I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with where you grew up? I haven't even heard you mention your parents since they came in for that surprise visit a few years ago," she reminded him.

"That's the general rule, but the Garies are different," he said, putting his gloved hands into his coat pockets.

"How so?" she pressed.

"Well, for starters, they don't live in Louisiana anymore, so that shows they have some semblance of intelligence. And they moved when I was just a teenager, so the only times I saw them were when my parents would send me up here for a week in the fall to help with outside chores before winter set in." He thought for a moment before he continued. "So, in a way, they still know me as the same kid that comes over every year—sometimes more, sometimes less—just with grey hair and a law degree. And they mostly just let me sit around instead of putting me to work. They think I work too hard at my "other" job, as they put it, so I let them believe that," he smiled over at Christine like a naughty little boy. She just shook her head at him.

"Dan, do you mean to tell me that these sweet old people don't know your...your..." she was trying to name one of his many hedonistic pursuits.

"Extra curricular activities?" suggested Dan.

"To put it lightly—extremely lightly—yes." Christine was trying to wrap her brain around the blatant deception Dan had these people under. "So they think you're still...still..."

"The Beav, yes."

"Dan, how could you!"

Dan let out a frosty breath. "Can we avoid the sermonizing, please? I'm a bit tired of you trying to be the little angel on my shoulder telling me how much I suck! I liked the one that was there before better, didn't yap so much."

"Don't you think they deserve to know—?"

"—Look, can we talk about this later? You're ruining a perfectly good stroll through nature," he waved his hands at nature in annoyance.

"Fine, but we _will_ talk about this later," Christine thrust a gloved finger at him, and she stuffed her hat down further on her head and crossed her puffy blue arms in front of her as they continued on. "So are you going to tell me what's at the top of this hill or is that a secret, too?" she added acidly.

"It's just a nice view, for your information," replied Dan, feeling very annoyed that the only place where he could truly escape was being filled with the sound of nagging. He was walking a step in front of Christine when they came up to a narrow wooden footbridge that crossed over the river they had driven parallel to on their way up. He got about half way across when he looked behind him, expecting to see Christine right there. She was still standing at the other end of the bridge, looking a little too pale for having just walked a good ten minutes in freezing air. There wasn't even a nip of red on her nose.

"What are you waiting for?" Dan called back to her.

"I don't do bridges. And water. Together," she said, the shake in her voice betraying her defensive attitude.

"What? What do you mean? You do the Brooklyn Bridge every day to work," he reasoned at her.

"No... I do the tunnel," she revealed, looking down at her boots.

"The tunnel? But that's an extra twenty minutes to work!" he said, turning full around to face her now.

"And worth every minute. Now, you just go ahead and I'll wait for you here," she waved him on.

"Don't be ridiculous," Dan said, but when he saw Christine was determined not to budge, he started walking back over to her. When he had reached where she stood Christine backed up a couple paces and put her hand up. Really, I'm perfectly fine here. I'm sure it's a lovely hill."

"You're just being silly. What's wrong with the bridge? Look, It's completely stable," and he turned around and demonstrated by grabbing the wooden handrails on either side, shaking them vigorously. The bridge creaked a little but remained unscathed. When he turned back around to face her, she was an extra ten feet further back. "Oh come on. It's easy," he said walking forward and reaching out to her.

"Speak for yourself," she said, and she proceeded to sit down on a large, low rock, giving the impression that she would be just as immovable. Dan looked up at the sky as if determining something. He let out an impatient breath and walked over to her, sitting down next to her.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why don't you 'do bridges. And water. Together'?"

She continued to stare at her knees. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh. I see. So it's okay for you to give me the Spanish Inquisition about my fears, but I can't mention yours. That's perfectly fair." said Dan pointedly, for once feeling like he wasn't the only one between them who had issues about opening up about their personal life. Christine sighed but remained silent.

"C'mon, it's not like you had a _near-death experience_ or anything," and he pinched up his expression, flailing his wrists, and did an impersonation of her falling off a bridge. Christine slowly turned to face him, her nostrils flared and eyes wide with contempt and disbelief. Dan stopped wobbling his hands about and his expression slid off his face like mud off a pie tin.

"Oo," he peeped out sheepishly.

"Excuse me," said Christine shortly, getting up off the rock and starting to walk back down the trail.

Dan did a face-palm before he hoisted himself up to go after her. "Christine! Christine, wait. I'm sorry, I didn't know! What are the odds?" He finally caught up to her and laid hold of her arm. She slowed to a stop but didn't turn around. "Really, I didn't mean to guess right. I was just trying to lighten the mood." She slowly turned around and looked up at him, still angry, but also knowing Dan suffered from chronic foot-in-mouth disease. She should have expected as much.

"Y'know, you got a real knack—"

"—I know, I know," Dan lamented. "Now, come on, why don't you tell me about it," he spoke softer now, rubbing her arms up and down. She looked back down from his hound dog eyes.

"Well... all right..." she relented. He may have a had a knack for putting his foot in it, but he was also very good at looking very sorry. She continued staring at the buttons on his coat when she spoke. "When I was eight years old, we were visiting auntie Marge in Iowa for Christmas. One day we decided to take a walk and we crossed a bridge—an older bridge—but there was an ice patch I didn't see. I slipped on it and went straight through a missing slat in the railing, into the water," she shuddered as if still cold from the hypothermia. "My daddy jumped in right after me and pulled me to safety, thank God. I still remember how the water felt, it was so cold it felt like it burned my skin. I couldn't even breath, it knocked the wind right out of me." She stood silent for a moment. "So anyway, that's why I don't do bridges."

"Oh, Christine, I'm sorry," he said quietly, and it was one of the rare times he actually was. He looked down at her, thinking, while her eyes still focused on the buttons. Their conversation in the car about his career-altering court case had been sitting in his mind since then, and he couldn't help but notice the similarities between their stories. He took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn't make a fool of himself. "In a way, I know how you feel, trying so hard to work around something to forget about it." Christine looked up at his face then, listening intently as he brought to her mind his own fear. "But I know," he continued, reaching up a hand and smoothing the hair back from her face, "how strong you are. Stronger than I am. And I know you can overcome this, if you just try, one step at a time."

She shook her head, "I don't think—I don't know how—"

"Let me help you," Dan encouraged her. "We'll do it together." She continued to look up into his face, moved by the earnest expression there. He really could be persuasive when he wanted to, and definitely picked the right career, she noted a little shrewdly. She exhaled a little unsteadily.

"If you let me fall..."

"I won't let you go," He said in a low, resolute tone. Christine couldn't help but believe him. She closed her eyes and relaxed her shoulders, and when she opened them she gave him a small nod. Dan smiled encouragingly at her and ushered her steadily back to the beginning of the wooden bridge.

"Okay," she breathed, "so how do we do this?" The bridge was only about thirty feet long but too narrow for two people to walk side by side.

"You can hold my hand," he offered his out to her as he took a first step onto the wooden planks. She reached out but then pulled her hand back. It wasn't enough to tempt her. "It's okay, here," he said, taking his gloves off, "you take yours off, too, so you can get a better grip." She did as she was told and timidly reached out once again. His warm hand closed around hers and he gently pulled her forward. Her boots felt like lead as she took a step onto the first plank. It squeaked a little against the next plank and she tightened her hold to a death grip, making Dan wince and gasp in pain. He wrung his hand free from hers out of sheer knee-jerk reaction, but when Christine didn't have anything to hold onto, she lunged at him from behind and flung her arms around him, constricting his diaphragm. He coughed and caught his breath. "Okay," he said hoarsely, "I know who to call in case I need the Heimlich," he patted the fists clenched to the front of his coat. "But whatever works. This good?"

"Just walk. Slowly," she instructed. So they nudged their way forward. When Dan moved his left foot, Christine would slide hers forward; when he moved his right, she followed with hers. And so they continued like that the entire distance of the bridge. The sound of rushing water filled her ears, and she wasn't sure if it was the water itself beneath them, or if it was the rush of blood in her ears that indicated a coming fainting spell. She clung on to him harder, if that were possible, and shut her eyes until—

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"Not that this isn't highly enjoyable for me, but you can let go now."

"What?"

"You made it, Moses."

Christine padded her feet a little and noticed the distinct lack of the sound of creaking boards. She ventured to open one eye, then the other. She began to loosen her grip as she processed the fact that she was on solid ground. She let go completely and Dan turned around to face her, but as she straightened her legs her knees began to wobble and he quickly reached out to steady her.

"Woah, there," he said, automatically propping her up against himself which put them in a pleasant embrace. He went with it and put his arms snugly around her. "See? I knew you could do it. Piece of cake." He felt her return the hug, and rested his cheek against the top of her head. They stood there for a long moment, listening the the river behind them and a lone bluebird in one of the bare trees overhead. Christine lifted her head up to look at him.

"Thank you, Dan," she said quietly.

"It was a privilege," he smiled warmly down at her. As they held each other's gaze, their smiles faded, and he came to realize something: he wanted to kiss her. Badly. Yet there was something in the back of his brain that told him that would be a bad idea, though he couldn't remember why. He began to bend his head down toward hers, encouraged by the fact that she wasn't backing away. When it hit him like a ton of bricks. He gasped and stopped himself from the slip-up, and painfully peeled himself from her, as if she were a particularly sticky band-aid, and on him, a particularly hairy arm. "Um," he spluttered, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "I just remembered that, uh, if we don't hurry, we'll miss the-thing." When he opened his eyes, she appeared to be just as flustered as he, her once pale face back to a healthy glow, if not a bit flushed.

"Oh...okay," Christine responded, who had remembered the bet that loomed overhead only by his sudden retreat. She mentally slapped herself in the face about five times when she realized that the first thought that came to her mind when he backed away was disappointment, not because she missed out on winning the bet just then, but she genuinely, honest-to-goodness wanted him to kiss her, and he didn't. She then wondered what kind of twisted, parallel universe she had fallen into.

"Shall we?" he asked as he put his gloves back on, but not waiting for a response and marching forward anyway. He led a brisk pace for them and she had to walk double time to keep up with his long strides.

"So what are we going to see that we'll miss if we're too late? The scenery won't disappear, will it?" Christine asked Dan after finally catching up to him, and catching her breath from the combination of the death-defying bridge experience, near-kiss, and his bounding steps.

"In a way, yes," he said, who had recovered himself and was walking slower now, to Christine's relief. The were beginning a gradual incline, though it only took a matter of a few minutes before they reached the top. The hill was covered with trees in the same way the stretch of land was covered before them, but for one bald patch on the side facing the lake and house, which were both in prominent view from where they stood. Dan walked over to a low-lying rock similar to the one they had sat on at the other side of the river. He picked it out from the others as if he had done it a thousand times before. "For your viewing pleasure," he offered Christine a seat with a sweeping gesture and sat down as she did. They looked out on the vast forest in silence. A warmth from the setting sun had begun to wash over the land.

"It's beautiful," said Christine. "I can only imagine how breathtaking it is in the fall."

"Oh, it is, but just wait." And so they did. As the minutes passed by in silence, the hues shifted deeper and the sky turned violet. Christine caught her breath and shielded her eyes. The lake had become liquid gold, the house stood as a gold pillar, its windows blazing like fire. The once lifeless trees of the forest became as gold filigree.

"Maison d'or," Dan spoke the name of the house, as if to himself. Christine watched in awe and then turned to look at Dan. He didn't notice her watching right then, he was too lost in thought. Christine wondered at him as he sat there looking so peaceful. She considered herself a good judge of character—it was a part of her job description, after all—and while she knew he was made of more substance that most people realized, or that even he cared to divulge himself, she realized then that she didn't give him enough credit. And as quick as that, the burnished landscape smoldered into dusk, and with it, Dan's peaceful countenance seemed to tarnish with disappointment. He looked her way then, and smiled a little.

"Show's over."


	7. Seating Arrangements

Chapter 7: Seating Arrangements

They had returned to the house as the last of the color of day had drained into gray, and the distinct shapes of the landscape were melting into each other. Christine was as deep in thought as Dan seemed to be, and they didn't talk very much at the top of the hill or on their journey back. Since their first crossing of the bridge, their wager had sat on the top of her mind like oil on water: it refused to settle back down into obscurity, and was an especially prominent thought as they crossed back over the bridge. She still had to cling to Dan for dear life, but this time was acutely aware of their close proximity. She was better composed by the time they reached the other side, however, to the mixed feelings of both parties: of relief that no stabilizing embrace was needed, and letdown that, well, no stabilizing embrace was needed.

Christine was at a loss for even questions, partly because she didn't know where to begin as she was still processing the incongruity of the Dan she knew at work and the Dan she didn't even know existed in a _town_ she didn't even know existed before today. The other part was because Dan seemed to become put out with very little prodding into his personal life, but it never seemed to be a good time to broach the subject, precisely because it seemed a shame to waste the rare phenomenon of having a genuinely good time with him.

Like Christine, Dan couldn't shake that bet from his mind, and not even the glorious sunset could stifle the glaring impetus for this entire day. His plan to induce her to kiss him by taking her into the most private experience he owned was proving more than he could bear. He had the unshakable feeling that she was actually doing what he hoped she would do: _like him_. And he hated himself for it. He wanted to be Dan the Ladies' Man once more, impervious to deep reflection and feeling, which he had done more of today than he had done since he moved to New York so many years before. He could tolerate being known by nanna and papa Garie as sweet, helpful Daniel, because that's what he chose for them to believe, no more, no less. And as long as he could control that, he would continue to do so. But now that Christine had seen both sides of the coin to an extent beyond that control, he wanted out. Why she didn't get into the prosecution side of law, he wondered shrewdly, was beyond him. She was good at sleuthing out the good, the bad and the ugly.

Dan rubbed his temples and furrowed his brow.

"Daniel, avez-toi headache? Sit down and I'll get you something for it," nanna Garie patted his back as she walked into the sitting room they had just entered themselves.

"No, it's nothing, really. Just too much fresh air," Dan assured her, and he began to take off his coat to hang it up.

"Voila, that other job is doing you in! Sit down and I'll fix you up." Nanna Garie bustled away before Dan could stop her. He shrugged at Christine: that was just nanna Garie's way. They came nearer to the hearth, the fire kindled up for the evening, and standing with a little distance between them, warmed their chilled faces and hands.

"So, I was figuring we should probably get going right after dinner, it's a long drive and I don't want to keep you up past your bedtime," said Dan to Christine, who would have left right then and there if he wasn't mortally afraid of the consequences of shirking nanna Garie's cooking.

"Oh—right," replied Christine who, up until that point, hadn't really thought about _after_ dinner. She guessed he was just being reasonable, though she had just assumed they'd be staying until midnight, she reasoned, because of the time rules of the bet.

Nanna Garie came back shortly and offered Dan a small crystal cut glass with a deep amber color liquid in it. "Voila—from papa's brandy stash."

"Nanna Garie, you really didn't need to—,"

"—Just sit down and drink up," and her stout frame seemed to grow as she bossed Dan's imposing 6'4" frame down to a sitting position in a nearby tufted armchair. Christine took satisfaction from the sight of it. "Christine," she said, turning around to her, "follow me into the kitchen. I've got some tea on, and we'll have that tour I promised." Christine obeyed the matronly woman and down the hall they went. They exited back out shortly, Christine with tea cup and saucer in hand, as they made their way through the generously proportioned farmhouse, where nanna Garie explained the significance of the details of each room. Many pictures hung on the walls: original art on the walls of the rooms, with a story behind each; to photos of people and places lining the hallways. She pointed out to Christine her favorites: of she and her husband when they were first married, her time at culinary school in Paris, and friends dear to them. "Now this," she said, slowing to one photo in a dark wood frame, "I'm sure toi comprends." Christine looked closely at the image of a handsome young man with exceptionally dark hair planting a big kiss on the cheek of a plump, familiar-looking lady who looked like she was in the throws of a good laugh.

"You," Christine guessed, "and Dan?"

"Mais oui," nanna Garie chuckled, and tapped the bottom of the frame affectionately. She sighed. "He's such a good boy. Always makes me laugh 'til my sides hurt! And always such a good help." Her smile faded a little. "I know his other job makes him tired—always trying too hard—but that's just his way. Mais," she turned to Christine then and looked her in the eyes, as if studying her, "toi est bien for Daniel. Je comprends. It's good to see him find someone, finally!" She took Christine's hand in hers and patted it warmly, smiling.

"What?" Christine was trying to "comprends" what nanna Garie was saying. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," Christine smiled, mortified by the misunderstanding, "we're just friends."

Nanna Garie laughed. "Is that what they call it nowadays? D'accord."

"No, no 'd'accord'," Christine persisted, the smile on her face a little strained. The woman patted her arm as if she thought Christine was sweet but a little dull.

"Daniel's had plenty of chances to bring women up here, but you're the first. Why do you think that is?" She explained to Christine as if it were very obvious.

"Really, we're just friends." Christine repeated, now a little annoyed. "And what do you mean by 'plenty of chances'? I thought Dan—," but she stopped short, not knowing how much to divulge to this woman whom Dan said knew nothing about his sordid lifestyle, but who appeared to know more about the matter than Dan was aware of.

"Well, you work with him, you would know better than anyone, no?"

"But Dan...he told me...you didn't know he...," Christine sounded like a record player going over speed bumps.

"He does have quite the reputation in the state of New York, no?" nanna Garie shook her head and sighed as if she felt sorry for him.

"But the way you treat him so...nice. And he still thinks you don't know," Christine was trying to make sense of it all.

"Oui, but we prefer to keep him in the dark. He feels comfortable here, feels he can be himself here. We don't know where else he has to go. But we're happy you're here now." She squeezed Christine's arm, much to Christine's dismay. She didn't like this conversation in the least bit.

"Nanna Garie—,"

"—And here is the last room. You'll be staying in this one," nanna Garie had cut her off.

"Oh, well, we were actually planning on leaving right after dinner—get home at a decent hour, you know." Christine was wondering if she should think the woman had presumed them to be staying overnight was the case, or if Dan had reserved the room. She decided she would find out those details before she killed him.

Nanna Garie paused for a moment before speaking, "Well, then, you can use this room to rest and freshen up before dinner, if you'd like," she welcomed her in the tidy little room with the same lace in the windows as downstairs, toile wallpaper and a bed with brass head and foot railings. "Speaking of which, I best get to it. Dinner's at eight, but you're welcome to be anywhere you please until then."

"Thank you, and thanks for the tour. I'll be down in just a minute," said Christine, and the woman smiled at her and went.

Christine set down her tea cup on a small writing desk and stared out of the darkened windows, running over the day in her mind. She thought about nanna Garie, who was quite formidable and shrewd underneath the southern hospitality. Dan was right, they _were_ different, she thought to herself. The picture she saw of a younger Dan came to mind, and she wondered at the transformation of a man with such bright outlook on life, to his present cynicism combined with such want in scruples.

She sighed. "Dammit, Dan." She felt bad for him on the one hand, but angry on the other, because she couldn't let go of the idea of how much more good he could do in the world if he only he dropped the act and abandoned the vices. Yes, that was what she kept telling herself, how good he would be for other people, but the image of him gazing into her eyes and bending down to kiss her at the bridge kept interrupting her philanthropic thoughts. _Stop it, Christine, you're being crazy_, she tried to pep talk herself out of the highly irrational desire popping into her mind. But as soon as she conquered that one, she thought of how sincere and determined he looked when he was talking about the extents he would go to to ensure that no one would ever fall victim to a foul verdict if he could help it. She wanted to be caught up in that pursuit, that purpose, that energy; but as soon as she determined that that was a harmless desire in and of itself, she saw herself caught up not in her own efforts, but together with Dan, in all facets of his life, and she was immediately overcome by the vision of him focusing his purpose and energy in pursuing _her_. Christine drew in a quick breath, shaking herself out of her reverie. She sat down on the bed, just then feeling the effects of the day settle into her bones. She put her head down on the pillow, letting out an exhausted sigh, and closed her eyes.

The next thing she discerned was a light knock at the door, followed by a gentle opening and closing sound, though she didn't yet stir or open her eyes. She still had fragments of a dream running through her mind, involving herself dressed in a French maid's uniform, feather dusting all of Dan's law books, and being quite happy about it. The image struck her as very odd, because instead of waking out of such a dream with the disgust it should have rendered, she woke still and peaceful and refreshed. She felt the bed sink down a little to her side, the box springs squeaking under pressure.

"Oh, Sleeping Beauty," a low, quiet voice said. She opened her eyes, noticing the close proximity from where it came, and found Dan sitting beside her, watching her wake. "I'd let you sleep, but dinner's going to be ready in about ten minutes, and I didn't think you'd want to miss it after having come all the way out here."

Christine merely watched him speak, her eyes focused on him, still thinking about her dream and how it had left her feeling.

"Hellooo?" Dan said, waving the back of his hand up and down at her. She must have had a peculiar expression on her face.

"Dan?" Christine said in the wistful voice of someone who had just woken up. "Where am I?"

"Well, you're not in Kansas, but you may as well be. Auntie Em's downstairs putting the finishing touches on a tarte aux pommes—that's apple pie to you and me."

Christine was slowly assimilating where she was. It was New Year's Eve, she was in Liberte, New York at the bed and breakfast ran by Dan's godparents. She touched his arm and closed her eyes again, took a deep breath and exhaled. Dan liked watching her wake up, he thought she looked cute when she was out of it. He put his hand on hers and continued to gaze down at her. When she opened her eyes again, she found him with a gentle expression on his face.

"What time is it?" She had just noticed the light blanket that had been draped over her.

"Quarter to eight," replied Dan, unconsciously stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Eight o clock!" She sat up quickly, dropping her hand from his.

"Guess you must've needed the nap. But then I do have that effect on women."

"From boredom, I'm sure," replied Christine wryly.

"Think what you will. But now that you're up, I'll leave you be, and you can come down when you've got your land legs. Unless you want scoot over and we can just stay here?" he smirked.

"I'll come down, thanks," said Christine, noticing that Dan seemed to have recovered some of his pluck since she last saw him. She figured the brandy nanna Garie gave him had helped. As he closed the door behind him, she got up and brushed the wrinkles out of her white sweater. Her purse was placed in the room while she slept, so she took it in with her to the bathroom and tried to undo the effects of a two-hour nap as best as she could with its contents.

As she came downstairs, the first thing she noticed was the mouthwatering aroma of spices, sauces, and roasts wafting through the hallway from the kitchen. She realized just then how hungry she was, and was, for the first time that day, very glad to be there. She found Dan standing by the fireplace just as before, with a refreshed drink in his hand. She saw him brighten when he saw her, which made her feel light and good. The effects of the dream still lingered on her and she didn't bother to reason them away. She joined him there in front of the glowing hearth. The room was busier now. The two couples they had seen upon their arrival were there, along with another new couple. It was evident these people all had the same idea about celebrating New Year: get away from the city, keep it low key, fill it with good food, and the all-around hospitality of Maison d'or.

"So what did you do while I was passed out?" Christine asked Dan, with a bit of an apologetic tone. She didn't mean to abandon him for two hours, but Dan didn't seem to mind.

"Played chess with papa Garie. Well, more like got an ass-whoopin' from papa Garie," Dan shook his head, baffled that he'd never once won a match with him in all the years they'd known each other. Nanna Garie then came out to usher her guests into the dining room. As Christine and Dan entered, nanna Garie nudged them back out.

"Non, follow me, I'll show you where to sit," nanna Garie said as she headed for the staircase. They looked at each other with clueless expressions as to where she was taking them. The woman opened a door at the end of the hall and led them in. Both Dan and Christine's eyes widened at the site of their seating arrangements. They had been placed in the small but elegant library. Petite white Christmas lights were strung up, criss-crossed in every direction over the entire ceiling. The gold lettering on the bookspines in the floor-to-ceiling shelves glittered in the diffused light. The mahogany desk that normally sat in the center of the room had been pushed to the side, replaced by a small round table draped with a long white tablecloth and topped with a single glowing votive candle and sparkling place settings. All of the courses along with their coordinating bottles of wine were already brought up and ready to be served. The playing of a cello concerto recording was discernible only in the absence of talking. Nanna Garie had her ideas about how their evening should go, and so she planned accordingly.


	8. Best Buds

Chapter 8: Best Buds

"Well, I need to get back to serving the other guests, but I'm sure you two can fend for yourselves," nanna Garie said, skating out of the room and closing the door before Dan or Christine could turn around to thank her—or to object. They remained rooted to the spot where they stood, taking in the secluded and glaringly romantic atmosphere.

"Well, that was nice of them to go to all the trouble," remarked Christine, who could feel even the roots of her hair blushing.

"That's one way of putting it," said Dan, who had never been embarrassed by a romantic dinner with a pretty blonde, or felt the need to rush through one of nanna Garie's meals, until now. For as much as he really did enjoy spending the day with Christine, and for as relaxed as the drinks had made him feel, he knew he'd made a mistake in bringing her here, and he wanted to get back to status quo as soon as possible. They approached the table, Dan pulled out her chair, and proceeded to sit across from her. They were soon distracted from any self-conscious feelings when they saw the spread put out for them. He pulled up the small serving cart that was waiting nearby, which contained more than a small amount of food. Nanna Garie's specialty really was French cuisine. She may have lived the vast majority of her life in Louisiana, but its French roots had always appealed to her, so that's what she became known for, and tonight was no exception to her expertise.

She crafted each course carefully, and the menu they found folded between the serving dishes showed them how to proceed. It read:

_Maison d'or Dinner Menu_

_~ First Course ~_

_Mesclun Salad sprinkled with walnuts, chives, currants, and tossed in a lavender-infused vinaigrette._

_Paired with Rosé Aperitif._

_~ Second Course ~_

_Tart of roquefort and caramelized shallots, Tart of roasted mushroom and brie._

_Paired with Sauvignon Blanc._

_~ Third Course_

_Mussels and Crayfish Provençal._

_Paired with Chardonnay._

_~ Fourth Course _

_Quail-prepared Coq au vin, garnished with thyme, surrounded by braised haricot vert, carrots, and leeks._

_Paired with Petite Syrah_

_~ Fifth Course_

_Cheese plate of goat rolled in mustard seeds aux Dijon, sheep, bleu, and triple cream._

_Paired with Champaign._

_~ Sixth Course_

_Apple tart drizzled with chocolate._

_Paired with Port. _

"She's trying to kill us," breathed Christine.

"No, she would never do that. Now, put us into a comatose so we'd hibernate here until spring, _that_ she would do," clarified Dan.

They navigated through their courses more slowly than Dan would have liked, but a bottle of wine for each course had the tendency of making a meal stretch out. They began their dinner in relative silence, with most of the conversation revolving around the food. As the wine bottles gradually surrendered their contents, their conversation flowed easily.

"Speaking of food," Christine said as she was washing down a bite of goat cheese with her Champaign, "where were you at dinner last night? Hiding from me?"

"For your information, I was making reservations for this," and he flourished his hands at the feast well under way. "But the fact that the phone booth was far away from you in the cafeteria _was_ an added bonus," replied Dan, eyeing her over his wine glass.

"I gave you a run for your money, huh?" beamed Christine, proud that her efforts to make Dan lose the bet did not go unnoticed by him. They clinked glasses and Dan pronounced her a formidable opponent. She gazed at him for a moment. "Thank you for today, Dan. It was really special to be here...with you," she reached over and put her hand on his. He smiled at her but unease passed across his face. He subtly slid his hand from hers and made to blot his mouth with a napkin, averting his eyes. She continued to watch him for a moment. "Dan...why _are_ we here?"

"What do you mean?" asked Dan who, despite his blood alcohol level, had little interest in another deep conversation.

"Why did we come all the way out here? Was it because of the bet?" Christine asked, most of the levity gone from her countenance and replaced with sincere curiosity. Dan continued looking down and straightening his napkin before he looked back up again, endeavoring to have a light attitude.

"Of course it was. Like you said, you gave me a run for my money, so I had to up the ante," he explained, now in the process of folding his napkin into an origami crane.

"Oh," Christine replied, feeling a little off-balance, not from the wine, but from his nonchalant response. "it's just that it felt like it was, well, _more_ than that," she added, trying to sound light-hearted like he was attempting to. When he didn't respond to her observation, she wondered at his silence. "Was it more?"

"_Nope_," he said, eyes still averted, now unraveling the crane.

"Dan," she said quietly, reaching out to touch his hand again, but he leaned back in his chair, a little agitated. He let his napkin drop over his plate.

"Alright, look, Christine. This was just a mistake. I'm sorry I brought you here."

"Then why don't you just call off the bet? Today doesn't have to be about some dumb competition." Christine tried to reason with him.

"No, I'm not giving up," said Dan stubbornly, and he pushed his chair out and walked over to look out the pitch-black window, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Christine sat there thinking and staring down at her worked-through plate, the only sound to be heard was the cello recording, now on its third repetition. "I don't think it was a mistake," she said quietly.

Dan let out an impatient sigh. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean about what you said, I don't think today was a mistake. At first I thought so," she looked up over at where he stood, "I was really angry that you kept goading me into that neanderthal bet of yours. But then, when we actually started talking, and the walk up to the hill...it was really nice...to get to know you more, and I'm not sorry about it."

He continued to gaze out into the night. "Let me explain something to you, Miss Sullivan, nobody gets to know me and likes it. So don't waste your brain cells thinking how you like what you see, because you're just setting yourself up for disappointment."

She got up and walked toward him. "Is that what this is about? You think nobody will like the real you? So you just stuff it all away, except for the occasional trip up to Mayberry. You put off the sleaziest qualities you can muster so no one will expect anything more of you. It all makes sense now. Your practice of law—and the women!"

Dan turned around to face her again at that word. "What about 'the women'?!"

"I see it now," she continued, snowballing on her theory, "it's just like everything else in your life. Go after the cheapest women, pursue the shallowest relationships, get intimate without getting close. You don't have to worry about anyone not liking you, because at least that way you can control how much they hate you. You show people they can't expect anything good from you, so you're safe from the risk that someone may not accept you for who you really are, because they don't even get the chance to know you." Christine was breathing a little hard now that she had thoroughly expostulated on Dan's chronic behavior.

Dan threw his hands up in the air. "Well, once again you've done it! I mean, really, you should have gone into psychotherapy, so at least you could write me a prescription for drugs to make me forget every deficiency you've ever pronounced upon me!" He began to march to the door but she cut him off by standing in front of it.

"Dan, the only real deficiency you have is not being truthful about who you really are. If you would just let me—"

"—No, I will not let you _anything_. _Especially_ not you," he said, and immediately closed his eyes having regretted saying it.

"What's that supposed to mean, '_especially_ not you'?"

"Look, just forget it—"

"—No, Dan. Just stop, already. Where are you going to go? Goodness knows you've had too much to drink to drive, anyway."

"I don't want to talk about it," insisted Dan, looking anywhere but at her and wishing she weren't blocking the doorway.

"Fine, make me guess...you're worried about my opinion of you?" Christine ventured to say, though not in the excited tone that she had worked herself up into before. She walked closer to him to gauge his silent response. "Why?" she asked, figuring his silence meant ascent. "You know I'm your friend. If I haven't left yet, I'm not gonna leave now."

"I'm not worried about keeping your friendship," Dan finally responded, "I know we'll always be _best buds_."

It took Christine a moment before she grasped what he was saying. "Oh," she said quietly, looking down at her shoes, "I think I get it."

"Didn't have any doubt you would. It's what you're good at, remember?" He said sarcastically, though enough wind had been blown out of his sails by then from making it sting. "Now if you'll excuse me. I'm tired, I'm drunk, and I would like to go to bed," he said, walking past her.

"Just one more thing, Dan," Christine said, interrupting his departure. He looked up at her wearily, his hand on the doorknob. "I would have kissed you, anyway, whether or not you had dropped the bet." He looked at her a long moment, his expression unreadable, and he proceeded to walk through the door, closing it behind him. She stood under the sparkling strings of light, hearing the cello concerto playing softly, and the muffled closing of a door down the hall.


	9. Rock, Paper, Scissors

Chapter 9: Rock, Paper, Scissors

Christine glanced at the carriage clock that served as a bookend on one of the shelves, the short hand indicating the eleven o' clock hour. She shook her head and rubbed it, feeling suddenly tired herself, and feeling like she had emotional whiplash. She wondered what the heck had happened in a little over twenty-four hours, from being at work and tormenting Dan with his own chauvinistic medicine, to having just been rejected by him. She wondered how such a man had that affect on her, but then, given their most recent conversation, she really didn't wonder after all, because she had experienced his authenticity for a whole day with very little interruption from his usual pretense, and she couldn't get past her voracity for more. _Just forget about it, Christine_, she told herself, echoing his words to her. He chose his path a long time ago, she concluded, and she was only fooling herself to expect anything different. She looked around the room at the lengths nanna Garie had gone to bring them together, who had boasted such certainty of Dan's feelings for the one woman he had brought to his personal sanctuary; but even the shrewd, discerning matron couldn't be right about everything, and the conclusion of their dinner was ample evidence.

She looked at the clock again and wondered what to do with herself now that the night had gone down in flames. She considered going to bed herself, but the thought struck her that she wasn't sure where to retire to, assuming that Dan had gone into the same room she'd napped in earlier. She decided to find nanna Garie and ask if there was a spare bedroom she could use, though just the thought of having to face anyone tonight, let alone Dan's godmother, was much more social interaction than she desired right now.

She yielded to the idea that that was her only option, so she left the library and went downstairs. As she entered the sitting room, she saw all three couples along with papa Garie grouped around the fireplace, laughing and talking easily and animatedly. Nanna Garie had evidently supplied all her guests with copious amounts of wine, and they looked settled in to count down the end of the year. She turned right into the hall and went into the kitchen, where she found the woman just finished up with the cleaning and putting together a tray of Champaign for her guests to toast the New Year. "Nanna Garie?" Christine asked, standing in the doorway.

"Christine! Ça va bien? Do you need more Champaign?" Nanna Garie indicated the bottle she was pouring with.

"No, no, thank you. It's just that, Dan...isn't feeling well, so he turned in early, and I was wondering if you had an extra room I could stay in for the night?"

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. But he did reserve two rooms, so you can just use the bedroom I showed you earlier today. Mais, toi shouldn't go to bed just yet! Come join us."

"Oh, no, I don't think so—," Christine started backing out of the kitchen, but before she knew it, the stout woman had her by the arm and was guiding her back into the sitting room. Christine, however, had dug her heels in when she was being ushered toward the cozy group of folks.

"Really, I'd prefer to just sit over here, if you don't mind," Christine said, knowing nanna Garie wouldn't accept her retiring before midnight, she chose the next best thing: a solitary love seat in the corner by the window. It was darker there and wouldn't draw too much notice from the other guests if she kept still. Nanna Garie decided to content herself with the compromise and let her be.

So she sat down and glanced over at the merry group, then decided that the window, which showed nothing, offered a better view. She sat with her arm propped up against the back of the seat and her head resting in her palm, with her torso turned toward the window to block out any other happier view of the room. Christine sat like that for a long time and began to feel her eyelids grow heavy. Just as she finally closed them, she felt someone sit down beside her.

"Nanna Garie, I really don't want any more Champaign—," she said, too listless to turn around to face her.

"—You're in luck because I don't have any."

Christine snapped out of her dozing state at the sound of a baritone voice and turned to face the speaker. She saw a disheveled looking Dan and wondered who he had gotten into a fight with, when she realized that it was probably with her. She continued to stare at him, unable to speak, and after a while he dropped his gaze from hers, looking like he had a lot on his mind.

"So, I've been doing some thinking," he began after a time, still looking at his knees, "about what you said. And, I wanted to let you know that I'm not calling off the bet."

"Dan Fielding, you came down here to rub in my face what you already told me upstairs?" Christine hissed, disbelieving, and trying not to raise her voice to draw attention.

"I don't mean it like that," he said, finally looking up at her, "I mean, my reason for keeping it has changed, technically speaking, but I'm fairly confident I'll win."

"Why is that?" Christine eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and incredulity.

"Because," he hesitated, took her hand and placed it lightly between the both of his, "you were right. All of it," he spoke softly, looking down and studying how their hands looked together. "But I'm not perfect," he added, looking back up at her.

"You know that's not what I'm asking you to be," Christine explained, "but I'm not quite following."

"Well, that's the thing. You're asking me to be something—something that I'm, quite frankly, terrified of—but for what? This whole day you've been parading the notion of how good I would be for humanity if I became that _thing_," he still had a hard time saying the word 'true', "but when you told me you would have kissed me anyway, were you just saying that to drive home your point, or did you really mean...," he cleared his throat, "you really do _want_ me?"

Christine considered his question and answered him carefully. "I've always said there was more to you—you know I've told you as much—but," she took a steadying breath, having an almost out-of-body experience for what she was about to tell Dan, "I'd be lying if I said that the man I just spent the day with isn't someone I wouldn't fall for in a second. In fact...I think I'd have a hard time being content with being 'best buds'."

Dan nodded and took a deep breath, stroking her hand a little. "But you wouldn't take any less than what you're saying I'm capable of." His question sounded more like an observation.

"Not less than one hundred percent," she agreed.

"_Then sweeten the deal_." Dan moved closer to her and looked at her intently with a gleam of something in his eyes.

"Huh?" asked Christine, who was both flushing at his nearness and having sudden reservations about it.

"Well, this is a big, scary step for me, and it'd be helpful to have a little _bonus_ for the effort." His one hand stayed on hers while the other had slid up her forearm. The gleam in his eyes, she recognized now, was mischief. _What_ had she stepped into, she wondered?

"Speak English, Dan."

"Let me win the bet."

"Why are we still talking about this bet?!"

"I told you I wasn't perfect. If you want all of me, you get the part that wants bragging rights, too."

"That's not a part of the real Dan I know!"

"Sorry—it is. Genetic defect. What can I say? I like to _win_."

"Dan Fielding, you little—"

"—How much do you want me? This is life-altering, y'know. People will be talking, wondering why I'm _incredibly_ wonderful all of a sudden, wondering why I'm a _one-woman_ man," the hand on her forearm had made it to her upper arm and he seemed to be even closer now.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Oh, come on, Christine. We both know how we feel about each other now, so it all comes out in the wash, really."

"And what if I don't want to play along?" she demanded to know. By now his hand had found the back of her neck and he leaned in and whispered something in her ear, the sensation giving her goosebumps. He leaned back slightly to face her, much of the trouble-making gone from his face, and the glint in his eyes replaced by the warmth she had seen in them before. That was a low-blow, she thought to herself, but all she could manage to say was, "all-right," her own expression softened considerably. He grinned and held still before her, waiting for his hard-won kiss, but she didn't move.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked.

"The clock to strike midnight. If you get bragging rights then at least I get to buffer it by saying it was simply a routine New Year's kiss."

"But, _if_ you'll remember, I wagered that you'd _like_ it, too. How do you get around that little detail?"

"Well...I don't know. I guess it's not a foolproof plan, but at least it'll stem a little bit of the uproar at work."

Dan shook his head and squinted over at the grandfather clock in the corner. "There's still nine minutes 'til midnight, what are we going to do until then?" he asked a little impatiently.

"I don't know...Rock, Paper, Scissors?" she suggested.

He snorted. "Um, no. Here, I have a better idea." And he moved his arm that had been slowly making its way around her, cinching her close to him so that her head rested on his shoulder and under his jawline. He drew his other arm snugly around her and she responded by wrapping her arms around him. "There," he said, "now I've got you pinned so you won't be tempted to attack me before the appropriate time."

"Thanks, Dan." And they sat there, wrapped up in each others' arms with little talk; their long embrace speaking better than words for what they wanted to say. It was very peaceful and exhilarating at the same time, and when the small group by the hearth had started to count down the last ten seconds before the new year, they sat quietly and watched, silently counting down to a very different year than the one gone by. Christine pushed herself slowly up from Dan and he loosened his hold on her. As the household sang Auld Lang Syne, she looked intently into his eyes, and he was suddenly aware of how humbled he felt for her to let him win, in so many more ways than the bet. She wished him a Happy New Year, but when he opened his mouth to try to do the same, words left him, so she pulled him down to herself and filled the void with soft, tender kisses. When he finally overcame the initial daze of the event, he returned the affection with enthusiasm. They parted after some unknown period of time, though the singing had stopped and most everyone had retired to their respective chambers for the night. Dan gazed deeply into Christine's eyes, quietly stroking her hair, when he finally spoke.

"So...wanna have sex?" he asked point-blank.

"_Dan_...," it was dawning on Christine that she did, in fact, get one hundred percent of Dan, Eros and all; but like he said, it would all come out in the wash, because now it was all for her. "Why don't we go and finish our dessert, instead?"

"Did you say 'dessert in bed'?"

"Dan."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

He walked her to her room door and kissed her goodnight. And kissed her good night some more. And a little more after that. Until she politely, sweetly closed the door on his lips. She locked her door, just in case, and he left his door ajar, just in case. The fire in the hearth downstairs eventually diminished into smoldering coals, the effervescence in the scattered glasses of leftover Champaign fizzled out, and the New Year settled silently, favorably into place.


	10. The Bet

Chapter 10: The Bet

The morning dawned crisp and still, though most of the house didn't get up until well after nine o' clock. Dan knocked on Christine's door and offered her a shirt with the price tag still on, a pair of brand new underwear and a vast array of toiletries he evidently had been stockpiling in the trunk of his car, "in case of emergencies," he explained, for which she would have balked at if Dan hadn't looked so sheepish about it. They decided to stay the whole day, making up for lost time with nanna and papa Garie, taking more walks around the surrounding area—avoiding bridges this time. Christine felt she'd overcome enough for quite a while and decided to take a break from perfecting her mastery over navigating the structure. They had an early dinner before leaving for home, and warm farewells were given all around. As they walked hand-in-hand to the car, nanna Garie watched them leave from the doorway. Papa Garie joined her their, patting her arm. "Bien. Tres bien," he said simply. She smiled.

* * *

"I _don't_ believe it."

It was Monday night, and the end of a very long and strange first night back to work in the new year. Judge Harry Stone had noticed a peculiar change in Dan that evening, and tried to place a description on his behavior; it seemed...pleasant—and it gave him the creeps. When he asked Dan about the bet, he merely replied that he would let him know later. Well, it was later, and as he sat slumped in a wide-eyed stupor at the table in his office, he clenched some crumpled paper in his hand while simultaneously using that fist to prop up his head. Phil was there, in the process of prying it open and releasing the dollar bills from his grasp, smoothing them out on not a small stack of cash already in his possession.

"She _kissed_ him."

A large group of people had just exited his office, Roz being the last one to straggle out. Phil patted Harry's shoulder appreciatively—or sympathetically—Harry was too dumbstruck to differentiate.

"And _liked_ it."

"Thanks, Judge." said Phil. "I hope there's no hard feelings. When I heard there was an office pool about the bet Dan had made, and that everyone had bet against him, I felt I had to defend his honor," he explained in an almost reverent manner. He was now leafing through the money and organizing it by bill size. Harry continued to sit in a petrified state as he went on. "But it worked out for the best, anyway. Boss is taking Christine out this weekend, wanted it to be extra special, and this should help out a lot," he said with a toothy, lopsided smile, and shuffled out of the office to find his recipient. Harry was left to ruminate, remembering his words to Dan, how he wouldn't be able to go through with it. He kicked himself soundly for not only second-guessing his high opinion of Dan and starting the office pool, but for the inconceivability of the concept of Dan and Christine _together_. He slunk over and laid his cheek on the hard surface of the desk.

"Of all the advice I've given him over the years, he chose to follow _this_!"

* * *

"So then, what made you finally do it?" Roz asked Christine in the empty courtroom after she had finally divulged the details of their weekend to her. Roz still couldn't see how Dan had persuaded Christine to kiss him.

Christine looked back down at the papers she was stacking into her briefcase, smiling at the memory of his whispered words in her ear. "He told me he'd dust all of my tea sets and clip my cat's nails, no matter if I chose to let him win or lose."

Just then, Dan came through the back double doors of the courtroom, wearing a frilly white apron over his three-piece suit, a feather duster in the large front pocket, and gripping his suitcase with heavy leather falconer's gloves. "Ready, m'lady?"

"Yup!" Christine called to Dan. She turned to Roz, her face lit up in a giddy smile, and proceeded to leave the courtroom arm-in-arm with Dan. Roz shook her head, not even attempting to figure it out.

"It must be love."

The End

* * *

_Dedicated to the late, great Reinhold Weege who, through the gentle medium of comedy, told the story of man's need for redemption and grace in the theater of justice: the courthouse. God bless you, and thank you for captivating me with notions too lofty for my age back in the day, which I am now only beginning to adequately appreciate._

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it! Oh, and I have very little knowledge of how Cajun is spoken, so if someone out there is an expert and sees a boo-boo in my writing, please let me know so I can fix it, thanks :)

Cheers!

~Anne Viktor


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